‘Rob!’
‘Hello, Poppy.’
She felt her mouth drop open. This party was in danger of becoming seriously bizarre. Who was going to turn up next, Elvis?
Rob was suffering from something approaching shell shock himself. The last time he’d seen Poppy had been on the morning of their supposed wedding. When she had scuttled off to London, he had imagined her living in some godawful studio. He’d certainly hoped it was godawful anyway.
But he had been wrong. Instead she was here, in this palatial house where wild parties were held, huge parties where gate-crashers got their noses broken and good-looking men strolled through the hall, clutching paintings of the girl he had once almost married. Only the one glimpsed by Rob had been no ordinary painting… in this one Poppy had definitely been naked.
To add to the air of surreality, he was almost sure the middle-aged man standing less than three feet away from him was the film star Hugo Slade-Welch.
‘Rob. It’s nice to see you again.’
He pulled himself together.
‘Yeah, you too.’ A small lie. It was downright weird seeing Poppy again. And that bloke over there definitely was Hugo Slade-Welch. ‘Sorry… uh, this is Alison.’ Awkwardly, he made the necessary introductions. ‘My fiancée.’
Poppy smiled and nodded and said, ‘Hi.’ Dina had told her all about Alison, the nurse with the unfortunate ankles. Unable to help herself, she glanced anklewards. Yep, there they were. Alison’s legs, encased in woolly blue tights, went straight down. She was wearing sensible shoes with real laces.
‘Sorry, I’m a bit confused,’ said Poppy. ‘Did Dina invite you along to the party?’
‘I’d better explain.’ Rob was still staring goggle-eyed at Hugo Slade-Welch so Alison put herself in charge. It was what she was good at. ‘Ben didn’t want Dina to come here tonight. They had a major row and she stormed out. The thing is, as far as Ben’s concerned, this is the last straw. He’s in a dreadful state, but absolutely determined. If Dina doesn’t come home tonight, their marriage is over. He’ll divorce her. He says he never wants to see her again and he’ll fight for custody of little Daniel.’ Alison paused for a second. Ever practical, she added, ‘He probably won’t win, of course. The courts almost always favor the mother. But he does mean it. If we can get Dina back tonight, they can try again. Otherwise that’s it; Ben’s had enough.’
‘Oh Lord.’ Poppy bit her lip. If the remarks Dina had been making recently were anything to go by, they might as well book the solicitors now. She had a sneaking suspicion Dina would declare this the best news she’d heard all year.
‘So you see why we had to come. Sorry to have intruded on your party. We tried phoning a few times but it was always engaged. In the end, we thought we’d better drive up.’
‘Alison found the address in Dina’s diary,’ Rob put in. He didn’t add what else they had found in the diary. ‘Ben doesn’t know we’re here.’
Poor Ben. Poppy peered in desperation over the heads of the milling guests. She hoped Dina wasn’t nearby doing something horribly indiscreet.
‘She could be anywhere. Why don’t you two help yourselves to a drink now you’re here? Let me go and look.’
But she found Dina almost straight away, sitting on her own on a wooden bench at the bottom of the garden.
‘What happened to your makeup?’ said Poppy, joining her. Dina was sitting very still, gazing blankly ahead.
‘Washed it off.’
‘Have you been crying?’
‘No.’
Since it was obvious she had, Poppy proceeded with care. ‘Rob and Alison are here. They want to take you back to Bristol. Look, I heard about your fight with Ben. If you don’t go home tonight, he’s going to divorce you.’
‘Okay.’
‘Okay what?’ Poppy leaned closer. Dina didn’t even sound like Dina. ‘Okay you’ll go back or okay he can have a divorce?’
Dina heaved a long sigh. ‘I’ll go back.’
This was so unlike her, Poppy thought there must be a catch.
‘Really?’
As Dina took out a cigarette her hands trembled. The brief flare of the match lit up her face. Fresh tears slid down her white cheeks.
‘Oh Poppy, I thought I could do it. I thought I could change my life, like you changed yours… for the better. But I can’t. It’s no good, I just bloody can’t. It worked out for you but it wouldn’t work for me.’
‘I don’t get it.’ Poppy frowned; an hour ago Dina had been in tearing spirits. She couldn’t imagine what must have happened to knock her down like this. ‘Has somebody said something to you?’ Claudia, perhaps? Surely not Caspar…
‘Not to my face.’ Dina’s voice wavered. ‘But it’s what they say behind your back that counts, isn’t it?’
‘Who?’ For a wild moment Poppy wondered if Caspar had been leading Dina on.
‘Doesn’t matter who. Everyone probably. Anyway, sod them.’ Dina ground her cigarette out with her heel and stood up. ‘I don’t care anymore. I’ve got a husband who loves me. And a baby. I may as well go back home.’
Worried, Poppy said, ‘Do you love them?’
‘Of course I do.’ Dina’s answering smile was bleak. ‘Oh, I know I said I was sick of it all, but that was when I thought I could find something better up here. Meet someone richer, more exciting. Like you did.’ She shoved her cigarettes and matches into her bag and looked down at the angry red mark on her chest. Hugo Slade-Welch’s scrawled signature had taken ages to scrub off. ‘But now I know I can’t, I’ll be all right. Might even have another baby. Ben’s been going on about a little brother for Daniel for months.’
‘You might have a girl.’
‘Yeah.’ As they made their way back to the house, Dina gave Poppy’s arm a squeeze. ‘Poor kid, if we do. We’ll just have to hope she doesn’t take after me.’
‘Now there’s a blast from the past,’ remarked Hugo, inhaling pleasurably as he found himself next to Rita. ‘That takes me way back. All of a sudden I’m twenty-five again.’
‘In your dreams,’ replied Rita good-naturedly.
‘Mitsouko. Guerlain. I’m right, aren’t I?’
She nodded. ‘My husband bought it for me.’
‘I haven’t smelled it for years. Reminds me of a beautiful woman I once knew, back in Edinburgh. I was madly in love with her.’ Hugo’s eyes crinkled. ‘Sadly, her husband had bought her that scent too.’
‘Did you have an affair with her?’
‘Even more sadly, no. She wouldn’t. I was a penniless drama student, not much of a catch. And she was a lady of expensive tastes.’
‘I bet she was gutted when you became famous.’ Rita looked entertained. ‘Did you ever hear from her again?’
Hugo shook his head.
‘But for years, every time I was interviewed on television, or one of my films was being shown, I imagined her sitting at home watching me. And hoped, of course, that she was… gutted.’
‘If she’d really loved you, she wouldn’t have minded you being broke. When I met my husband he didn’t have a bean.’
Unlike Poppy, Hugo was able to tell real diamonds from fakes.
‘And what does he do now?’ he inquired with genuine interest.
‘Nothing much. He died in January.’
Hugo was appalled. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘On the other hand,’ Rita went on easily, ‘he could be getting up to all sorts. We don’t know, do we? He might be having a high old time, banging away on some piano, vamping it up with Louis Armstrong and Count Basie, playing up there in the clouds where the bar never closes, the beer’s free, and the audience always knows when to clap.’
‘Your husband was a jazz pianist!’ Hugo looked delighted. ‘I’m a bit of a jazz buff myself. Would I have known him?’
‘He wasn’t famous. Alex Fitzpatrick. I shouldn’t think you’d—’
‘Alex Fitzpatrick? I have heard of him! I even saw him playing once, many years ago, at a club in Soho. He was excellent. I say, what a small world.’
‘Bugger it!’ exclaimed Rita as a blonde trailing a handbag squeezed past. Looking down, she saw that the clasp on the girl’s handbag had caught against her tights. When she bent her knee to examine the hole, a ladder promptly slithered the length of her leg. She rolled her eyes at Hugo Slade-Welch. ‘Shit, don’t you just hate it when that happens?’
He started to laugh. ‘Where are you going? Don’t disappear… we’ve only just met. I don’t even know your name.’
‘Rita. And if you want to make yourself useful, find me another gin and tonic.’ She moved away, trailing Mitsouko. ‘That way you can guarantee I’ll be back.’
‘Sorry to interrupt, pet, but look at the state of my tights. Is there an all-night garage anywhere near here or a late-opening corner shop?’
‘I’ve got a spare pair.’ Poppy, who had just waved off Dina, Alison and Rob, was talking to Jake. Luckily, Rita’s torn tights were Barely Black. ‘Same color, one-size-fits-all, still in the packet.’ Feeling madly efficient she said, ‘You can have those. Hang on a sec, Jake…’
‘Don’t worry, I can get them. Just tell me where to look.’
Following Poppy’s directions Rita made her way downstairs. The tiny bedroom Poppy had occupied for the past eight months was almost empty now, most of her belongings having already been packed into suitcases and moved into Tom’s flat. The narrow bed was stripped, the wardrobe empty. Only an overnight case remained, crammed with toiletries and the contents of the bedside table. The tights, Poppy had explained, were somewhere in the case.
Rummaging carefully, Rita found them near the bottom. As she slid the oblong pack out, her rings clunked against glass. Silly girl, thought Rita, glimpsing the silver edge of a photograph frame squashed against a can of hair spray, that could get broken.
She pulled an ancient pink tee-shirt out of the bag, to wrap around the glass and keep it in one piece. Then she levered the photograph frame upwards.
The woman in the photo, smiling up at her, was instantly recognizable.
She stood in a small garden, holding a newborn baby in her arms.
She was wearing a white blouse and a full, flower-patterned skirt, and her curly hair was tied back from her face with a white scarf.
She was, Rita realized, Poppy’s mother.
And although there was no date on the back of the photograph Rita also knew when it must have been taken.
Nine months, give or take a few weeks, after she had broken her leg.